All eyes were eagerly turned in the direction, when a tall, pale figure scrambled up the platform, with streaming rags, matted hair, and beard perfectly white.

In agony Patak screamed out, The spectre !-the spectre!'

It was Michael of Filleck, haggard and insane!

'Ho! Michael, your light!-your light!' shouted Johan, and attempted to approach him; but the maniac, howling and shrieking with unearthly laughter, rushed across a narrow plank which covered a chasm of water, fathoms in depth, and disappeared, leaving the unfortunate men in a state of frightful anxiety. The only sound then distinguishable was an exclamation in discordant tones, Which of you threw my child headlong down the shaft?' and the wild yelling echoed through the caverns.

At this frightful moment Martin Varasok, who had proceeded to the cottage of Marie, stopped anxiously at the door. Marie was up, for her mother, afflicted with infirmities, had passed a sleepless night; and when the morning dawned she had fallen into a heavy slumber. As Marie approached the window she perceived Martin.

'Marie,' said he, falteringly, dare I speak to you?'

This is an unusual hour to visit the cottage, Martin.'

Martin replied in a low, but impassioned tone, 'Marie, I must and will ascertain my fate: my happiness or misery is in your hands; one word from you, Marie,-one little word will decide which is to be my lot: speak that word.'

Marie sobbed. Martin, in a more subdued voice, said, 'Marie, my heart and soul are yours: say you will love me, and for your sake I will conquer this impetuous temper!' He drew Marie towards him; her head sank on his shoulder, and her warm tears fell on his hands. Suddenly the alarm-bell tolled violently. They both started; hasty footsteps passed the cottage; an engineer was passing. Martin anxiously inquired what had happened. The engineer replied, with a look of horror, The mine has fallen in, and all the workmen are buried!'

'Distraction!' cried Martin. 6 And poor Berény!' added Marie.

Ha! Berény!' wildly exclaimed Martin; her Berény! fiends and furies have ye been mocking me? Away-away! my father! my dear, brave old father! I will seek you to the centre of the earth, or die!' and he rushed out.

The bell continued tolling fearfully, and the alarm spread like wildfire: hundreds were seen rushing to the fatal spot; fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, and children, by their cries adding misery to the scene. Martin Varasok soon arrived at the mouth of the mine, and, after a rapid consultation with the engineer on the spot, parties of workmen, headed by Martin, went down the pit in the hope of clearing away the rubbish below, so as to get at the unfortunate men; but, after many hours of hard labour, this was found to be impracticable, as not only the sand but water continued pouring down as fast as it could be removed from the bottom. The different masters then formed their gangs, and, people coming in from other villages, working parties were formed sufficiently numerous to relieve each other day and night. Martin was the first man to descend the old shaft; he was followed by several adventurous young fellows, and the work began in

earnest.

Incredible efforts were made, and, by dint of perseverance for several days and nights of continued labour, a way was made into what they ascertained to be a portion of the iron mine. Martin Varasok, notwithstanding the great fatigue he had undergone, insisted on being lowered down to a platform he beheld by the light of his torch below. His comrades remonstrated with him, but ineffectually; so he was let down the chasm with a rope fastened around his body. He had a lantern also tied to his girdle, a torch and his mattock in his hands; but, alas! the rope, swiftly travelling against the sharp edge of a slab of iron-stone, was severed, and Martin fell when about twelve feet from the platform. He fortunately dropped on his feet, and was only severely shaken. He hallooed with all his might, to assure his comrades of his safety, when lo! he heard, or thought he heard, a distant cry or shout to the right, but still beneath him. He again exerted his voice to the utmost. This effort was answered by a horrid yell, and a peal of such laughter as could only have proceeded from a demoniac.

This served, however, only to encourage his brave spirit; for, although he was nearly certain that the first sounds he heard were in a distinct quarter from the latter, it proved to him that there was life below, and while there was life there was hope. In the meantime the intelligence was conveyed to the surface that Martin Varasok had fallen, but that they had heard his shouts far beneath the platform. This intelligence immediately spread, and of course made its way to the ears of Marie Schönborn, to whom it was most maliciously conveyed by the Jew, Issachar. But Marie had too much energy of character to give confidence to all the little unprincipled Jew reported. She was a girl of determined principle; she could not rest easily at home, even with her infirm mother, until she was convinced of the fact that Martin was living. She went into the cottage of a neighbouring friend, whose brother was a miner; she implored her to come to sit by her mother, who very probably might not awake, and persuaded her friend to lend her the dress of her brother. She then succeeded in completely disguising her rather tall figure in the miner's habiliments, covering her fair forehead with a broad-brimmed hat. After offering up a hasty, but fervent, prayer for the success of her project, she ran to the mouth of the old shaft, which was discernible by the motley crowd and glaring of many torches.

The machinery and chain windlasses with iron tubs, had been properly fixed at both the elevations above and below: and the men were selected who were to descend. As Marie mingled with the throng, she perceived a young woman, with an infant at her breast, grasping energetically the hands of her husband, a miner, and entreating him not to leave her. Her piteous tone and tears appeared evidently to impress him: and he wavered. Marie seized on this minute of indecision; and when the captain called out numbers one, two, three, and the men severally placed themselves in the corves to be lowered by the machinery, at the captain's order for number four, Marie, with a cloak muffled around her, presented herself, boldly stepped into the iron bucket, and was instantly descending link by link as the windlass turned. It may be easily imagined that her heart quailed in being placed in so novel a situation. The iron bucket was up to her shoulders, and the lantern

which had been placed in her hand threw its dim rays around. She thought of her aged mother, and trembled; then she recollected her first impression and secret vow to be the one to save Martin, if he was to be rescued; so, putting her trust in God, she reached the second level, from whence her lover had so hazardously ordered himself to be lowered. When she arrived there, she perceived on the grim faces of the miners manifest marks of distrust. The chain windlass was there, and manned; but a hesitation was evident as to the person who was first to descend; it even came to a doubt whether any of them would venture. Marie made a desperate effort, exclaiming,

'Make way, there: I will volunteer to go down.'

Away, with the creaking of the rusty windlass only to be heard, descended the corve with the devoted Marie, fathom after fathom. At length the iron tub rested on a level surface. Marie looked around wistfully with her light, to observe whether she might only have been placed on the summit of a subterranean precipice; but, to the extent she could discern, the rock appeared flat and even. She therefore extricated herself from the corve, and gave the signal (by pulling a small line which had been tied round her arm before she descended), that the landing had been effected.

The grating of the receding chain sounded harshly and painfully on the ear of Marie. She gazed around: at a distance, at intervals, appeared a flickering, pallid blue light, which extended. itself considerably, but never in one place for a moment. This illumination, although she could not then account for it, was a slight ignition of fire-damp. The mind of Marie had been too well regulated for her to have any dread of supernatural agency; yet this sudden flashing gave her alarm. Whilst painfully pondering, a figure stood at some distance from her-an extraordinary figure-perfectly visible, with its dark and ragged outline standing forth from the sulphuric capricious blazing. Whatever the being was, it evidently was attracted by the light which Marie carried; she now felt her fortitude sinking! The creature approached-tall, enveloped in rags, white hair, and a huge white beard, the eyes sunken, and hollow cheeks. Starvation appeared to have nearly effected its utmost on the human frame-for it was a man! As he came closer to Marie, and glanced a flashing eye at her, he uttered in a faint and plaintive tone, 'Bread! bread!" Marie looked at the miserable wretch with a woman's pity, and took from her wallet a half-loaf, which she held out to him. He eagerly snatched, devoured it like a famished wolf, and appeared to wait for more. Marie, summoning up all the courage of which she was mistress, asked him if he knew of the accident that had occurred in the mine? but the only reply was, 'Bread! bread!' She gave him another piece, which was disposed of as greedily as the former. The mysterious being then beckoned her to follow him. As Marie had observed the path by which he had found his way to her was level, she assented, and this wretched, ragged, and white-haired object, led the way.

Several passages were traversed by the maniac, followed by the undaunted Marie. At last her conductor brought her to a small cavern, in a corner of which were heaped some rags, and a piece of coarse canvass: evidently the sleeping place of this isolated being. It was very cold and very damp: here the white-haired recluse seated

himself on the bare earth, and endeavoured to call the attention of Marie to something in the corner; instantly turning the light in that direction, she beheld a rude heap of stones arranged in the shape of a tomb, but of such a dimension that it could only have been intended as the sepulchre of a child. The strange being looked at Marie piteously, and large tears flowed from his eyes, and he articulated, Ludolph, my child, here is bread for you!

In agony, on his knees he seemed to pray; he then turned to Marie, and showed her a small leather cap, such as was worn at the period by boys, which he kissed, frequently. On a sudden, however, the fiend raged within him, and scowling horribly at Marie, he screamed out,

'Ha! It was you that threw my poor child down the shaft!' and he sprang on the affrighted girl like a tiger.

It was in vain that she resisted. The maniac seemed to be possessed of supernatural strength. She struggled and shrieked, 'Retribution!' cried Michael of Filleck. The death thou inflictedst on my boy is reserved for thee,' and he laughed wildly. 'Comecome! here is a chasm deep and dark enough.'

The maniac dragged Marie towards the edge of a precipice. Her shrieks were awful, when suddenly the insane ruffian was felled to the ground by a blow on the head, which proceeded from the mattock of Martin Varasok, and in the next moment Marie swooned in his arms. He supported her back to the cavern, and with difficulty restored her to her senses. As soon as they had somewhat recovered from exhaustion, Martin examined the rude sepulchre by the light of his lantern, when something glistening attracted his eye. He stretched his hand towards it; it was an antique silver flagon. On Marie perceiving the vessel she recognized it to have been her mother's. Martin made a further search, various other articles of plate, and a bundle of papers tied up, and covered with mildew, were found. These proved to be the title-deeds of the estate of the Schönborn family, for the want of which they had been deprived of it.

But to return to the poor men, Johan Varasok, Karl Berêny, Peter Patak, and four others, were entombed alive.

Alas! alas !' said Berény, 'to what purpose is it for us to prolong a dreadful existence, to perish by famine?'

'Who desponds?' exclaimed the brave old Johan Varasok. 'Here, Berény, friend in misfortune, here is a biscuit I had secreted, -eat !'

C

Berény wept in utter weakness. And you, Johan?'

'Want nothing,' replied Varasok, although he was, in fact, starving.

'Is there a hope of escape?' dolefully asked poor Peter Patak. 'Escape!' replied Johan; I pledge my word we shall all eat our dinners above-ground to-morrow. Depend upon it, our more for. tunate comrades are probing the earth for us now. Is not my bold boy, Martin, safe? Do you think that he will suffer his old father and friends to be buried alive? Hark! hark! hark! I hear them now. Hark! an explosion!-they are boring the rock!-shout -shout-all-halloo ! Strike against the ironstone walls with your hammers. They hear us! they hear us! Listen to their cheering !'

All was now increased activity. The miners were no longer labouring without strong hopes of saving some of their fellow-creatures: and this feeling gave an additional stimulus to their exertions. The iron-bound walls were at length driven through, and the first man that dashed into the aperture was Martin Varasok.

A MONUMENTAL PIC-NIC.

Au! them's pleasant places, them symmetries is!'

Such was the observation that fell upon our ear as we took our seat upon an emblematical tombstone, a twelvemonth since, in one of those suburban burying grounds, which may be termed the fancywork of dissolution-so imaginative, pleasant, and ornamental, is death made to appear.

After filling the air-cells of our lungs with nothing but the fog and blacks of our garret for some months, a breath of fresh air is always delightful; and since in these semi-rural outbreakings we are never in the saddest mood, but prefer choosing whimsical and eccentric scenes to gloomy and depressing ones, we generally keep our holiday in a metropolitan cemetery.

We repeat, we love to linger in one of those English translations of Père la Chaise. There is no affectation in its chiselled tombstones; no morbid taste or false poetry in its epitaphs; all its monuments evince the hatred of ostentatious display and purse-proud distinction, befitting the circumstances; and the secluded situation of most of the graves betokens the privacy in which the heart rejoices to commune with the departed. And, besides, in the erection of conspicuous tablets to the unconscious dead, by executors or legatees, there is a pure wholesome feeling displayed,-they are as camphorated amulets to ward off the pestilence of the world's inuendoes and envenomed slander.

With these sentiments we wandered from London one fine spring morning, and entered a cemetery to spend the day. Passing through the great gates of entrance, we were first struck by the affecting simplicity of a plain column at the side of the path. It was fashioned to resemble a portion of the decayed portico of a tumble-down house, which had been bought cheap, and on which was carved the simple name of Bob.' What a world of surmise and romance did that abbreviation open to us!

In the nearest part of the ground we observed the last restingplaces of several members of the theatrical profession. The tombstone that most interested us was that of a late celebrated clown. It is composed of various slabs of granite, and has somewhat the appearance of a set pantomime-trick. You would not be astonished to see its various parts flap up and down, and turn into a kitchen-range, or something of the sort. There is a piece of sculpture on it, which represents the sepultured merryman bursting from the tomb, and exclaiming, Here we are again!'

VOL. X.

62